This paper presents findings from research conducted in two primary
schools in South Australia with New Arrivals Programs (NAPs). The paper
draws upon two forms of data: questionnaires administered to teachers
and ethnographic observations of children at play in the schoolyard.
These data are used to examine two aspects of education for refugees and
other migrants: (1) the assumption that English language acquisition is
central to the "integration" of refugees and other newly
arrived migrants (and both that integration is of key importance and
that the work of integration must primarily be undertaken by refugees
and other migrants, not the broader community); and (2) the impact of
power differentials between NAP and non-NAP students in the use of
playground spaces. We argue that the education provided to refugee and
newly arrived migrant students in NAPs needs to move beyond treating
English language acquisition as a requirement to "fit in," and
we call for schools with high populations of refugee and migrant
students to consider how spatial relations in their schools may be
negatively impacting these student populations. Finally, the paper calls
for an approach to education that is situated in global contexts of
colonization and power relations, and in which the terms for inclusion
of NAP students are mutually negotiated, rather than predetermined.

In Australia in 2009 there was a significant increase in the number
of asylum seekers arriving within Australian waters attempting to claim
refuge. Whilst this increased movement of people across borders was
thought to primarily be the result of much greater numbers of people
being displaced from their countries of origin than in previous years, I
the Australian media and government suggested instead that people were
arriving due to a softening of Australia's border security
policies, (2) despite the fact that Australia spends millions of dollars
per year on strategies to prevent asylum seekers arriving unexpectedly
by boat (even though the number of people arriving this way usually only
amounts to several hundred per year). (3) Indeed, largely as a result of
government and media rhetoric relating to <Given the above context facing people seeking asylum in Australia,
it is fair to state that experiences of forced migration to the country
are as much shaped by the experience of borders enforced within
Australia as they are by the effects of displacement. (6) In other
words, and as Cole argues, the history of immigration (and specifically
forced migration) has been one of "institutionalized racism at the
border," (7) which is fundamentally in opposition to liberal
political theories, in that restrictive border control effectively
penalizes people for circumstances beyond their control. By contrast,
advocates for a No Borders approach, as elaborated throughout this issue
of Refuge, argue that embracing movements of people in the same way that
the globalized world currently embraces the free movement of goods would
help to eliminate such persecution and racism. (8) At present in
Australia, however, it is precisely debates about "losing
control" of the border that function to engender fears of invasion
by "hordes" of refugees, (9) thus reinforcing negative
sentiment towards refugees as being Other to Australia.

As stated above, the negative sentiment pervasively seen in the
Australian media and other institutions is primarily targeted towards
those arriving in Australia "unexpectedly," outside
<Yet despite this negative reality faced by refugees and other newly
arrived migrants, Australia is still widely conceptualized as
"generous" in its approach to "inclusion." (14) Such
a paternalistic understanding allows Australia to ignore both its own
colonial history (and the status of nonindigenous people as ourselves
migrants in illegal possession of land), and also the location of
Australia within a global colonial history that continues to produce the
disparities we see between developed and "Third-Wodd" nations.
(15) Focusing on procedural, rather than relational, understandings of
forced migration thus allows Australia to be positioned largely outside
the complex colonial histories of which it is an active part, and
through which it may be suggested the process of forced migration is
produced. (16) Indeed, in order to fully understand a politics of No
Borders it is essential to adopt a relational understanding of migration
which considers the responsibilities Australia has as an industrialized
country. For example, as a member state within the Commonwealth,
Australia is complicit in colonizing practices that have affected large
areas of Africa. Such responsibilities may become even more evident as
the effects of this industrialization bear upon developing countries,
for example through the effects of climate change.

Of course not all Australian citizens will take up unquestioningly
the negative messages about refugees and migration we outline above.
However it is likely to be the case that many will, particularly given
the unease often expressed in Australia regarding the fact that refugee
protection is established by international law, and thus may impact upon
desired national laws, particularly those regarding closed and tightly
regulated borders for human migration purposes. (17) Thus it is
important for us to consider the implications of these pervasive
negative representations for both refugees (and other migrants)
themselves, and for those who may work with these populations in
situations not necessarily of their choosing. One such instance where
this can be examined, and as is our focus within this paper, is in
schools that include a New Arrivals Program (NAP) into which both
immigrants, and those refugees recognized as "genuine" and
correspondingly granted a visa, enter once they arrive in Australia.
More specifically, this paper considers research undertaken in two South
Australian primary schools with NAPs and examines two major elements
identified in both the project being presented here, and in previous
literature relating to refugee education. These are: the widespread
assumption of the impact of low levels of English language skills on
refugee and migrant "integration," and the ways in which the
uses of space within schools effect NAP students and their ability to
claim spaces as their own.

Importantly, it must be noted that whilst much of our emphasis thus
far has been upon depictions and treatment of refugees in Australia, not
all NAP students are refugees. At the two schools in which we conducted
research, refugees accounted for approximately 30 per cent of the NAP
student population. However, and as we noted above, negative sentiment
about "illegal" refugees and the expectation of adherence to
"Australian values" extends to all migrants from
non-English-speaking background countries, especially those who are not
identified as white.

The Study

The study took place in two primary schools located in South
Australia over a period of eight weeks. These schools represent two of
the sixteen South Australian schools that include a New Arrivals
Program. In order to preserve the anonymity of the schools, they are
referred to throughout as Hills Primary School (HPS) and Plains Primary
School (PPS). HPS had a total of 222 students at the time the research
took place, with 75 NAP students spread across six NAP classes. As such,
NAP students accounted for 34 per cent of the student body at the
school. of the NAP students 29 (39 per cent) were refugees. HPS was
rated as a category 6 school on the Department of Education and
Children's Services (DECS) Index of Educational Disadvantage, where
a category 1 school serves students from the most disadvantaged
families, and a category 7 school serves students from the least
disadvantaged families.

PPS, in contrast, is a category 3 school. PPS had a larger number
of students (294), but is situated on a smaller amount of land, with a
smaller playground space. The school has almost the same number of NAP
students (70), spread over five different classes. NAP students comprise
around 24 per cent of the student population. Of the NAP students
enrolled in the school at the rime the research took place, 18 were
refugees (25 per cent).

Data Collection

Initially, ethics approval was granted by both the Department of
Education and Children's Services (DECS) and the authors'
university. Consultation meetings were then held with both schools
identified as key sites for the study by DECS. Both schools expressed
enthusiasm at being involved in the project. Information sheets were
provided to the schools for parents to inform them of the study and the
minimal impact it would have upon students in their everyday schooling.

The study involved several forms of data collection. First, an
ethnography of the schoolyards was undertaken, with a focus on how NAP
and non-NAP students use the spaces. The ethnography involved the first
author spending considerable time developing rapport with individual NAP
classes and teachers during the rimes in which students ate their lunch
inside the classroom, and then conducting observations in the playground
space during lunchtimes. This phase was conducted over eight consecutive
weeks. During this time, the first author observed in turn each of the
main spaces of the yard in order to ascertain which students were using
which spaces. Maps were used to depict where students played, and a
charting system was devised in order to "count" students in
terms of how many NAP and how many non-NAP students were using each
space during the time the researcher was there.

Extensive field notes were also taken in order to record incidents
which took place in an area whilst it was being observed. Such incidents
would include what students were doing, any conversations held with
students or teachers in the yard, and where exactly within each space
students were (for example whether they were playing on the equipment,
or running around the edge of the area). Interactions between NAP and
non-NAP students were considered especially important. The observational
notes were used to add richness and complexity to the quantitative
charting system.

It is important to note here, as Thomson suggests, that whilst
students were told who the first author was and what she was doing, this
is not the same as obtaining informed consent. (18) As the first author
simply entered the classrooms and initiated conversations, and
subsequently conducted observations in the yard, students at the schools
were not given an opportunity to decline to participate. Of course,
where a child seemed reluctant to speak to the first author during
classroom conversations the first author would end the conversation and
move on. However, and as Thomson states, students within school grounds
are typically not in a position whereby they are able to refuse the
attention of adults. (19)

Finally, a questionnaire was also developed to determine teacher
opinions on school policies regarding the NAP, the school environment
itself, and the use of space in the schoolyard. Questionnaires were
provided to a total of eleven NAP teachers and twenty non-NAP teachers
across both schools. (Responses were received from six of the NAP
teachers and fifteen of the non-NAP teachers.) Teachers received an
information sheet detailing the study and were required to sign a
consent form. The questionnaire was a combination of questions with
responses on Likert scales, together with open-ended questions in which
teachers were given spaces to write their views. Teachers' views
were also documented within the field notes as teachers at both schools
frequently initiated conversations with the first author either in the
yard or in the classroom during the ethnography phase of the study.

The Use of Space

The brief outline provided earlier regarding the current situation
of refugees in Australia is a good illustration of the fact that the use
of space, and claims to place, are never neutral: the spaces in which we
move are highly regulated by social norms that determine how individuals
can move. (20) In many cases, spaces are centred around the values of
dominant groups, and as such function to exclude people from
marginalized groups, such as refugees, unless they are seen to "fit
in" with the dominant culture. (21)

This is also reflected in the use of space by children in school
playgrounds. Previous research has investigated the ways in which
children's spaces are used by children themselves, and are managed
and supervised by adults who are keen to control, protect, and socialize
children. (22) For example, research undertaken by Thomson found that
children were active in their use of space within the school playground,
despite strict controls by teachers monitoring the playground spaces
during break times, meaning that children do have some degree of power
over the spaces which they inhabit. (23) However, refugee children
entering such spaces may not have the power to resist, or indeed even be
aware of, the norms already in place, or to shape spaces for themselves.

In Australia, intersections between the norms regulating refugee
behaviour and children's behaviour can be seen in state primary
schools that include a NAP for refugee and other migrant students. In
fact, schools have frequently been identified within previous literature
as spaces in which children are expected to behave according to strict
social norms, (24) and this may be especially the case in schools with
children from a diverse range of backgrounds and which may actively
police adherence to norms valued by the dominant group. For example,
research suggests that the spaces in which children move are an
important avenue of study as it is arguably within these spaces that the
social norms of future generations will be formed. (25) Furthermore,
research suggests that the spaces in which children play represent
important sites that contribute to children's social, cognitive,
and physical development. (26) Yet this contribution is never neutral:
school spaces have the ability to change the ways in which children
behave, such as by encouraging different forms of social interaction.
(27)

As such, it is important to examine the ways in which children with
refugee and other migrant backgrounds entering the education system are
located in the school space in relation to school and other community
norms. Indeed, the most salient divisions in primary schools with NAPs
are arguably those between both newly arrived refugees and migrants from
non-English speaking (NES) backgrounds, and children who have been in
Australia for longer periods of time and who are fluent in English. Such
divisions between children from these two backgrounds in the school
space were seen in our study, where very few instances of interactions
between NAP and non-NAP children were observed, with these two groups
being largely segregated in the playground during play times. Even when
the children were utilizing the same area (e.g., the same oval or the
same play equipment), there were very few instances of actual
interaction observed at either primary school.

The schools did differ, however, in terms of the opportunities for
NAP students to find a space which they could lay claim to and play in
as their own. At PPS, NAP children were only seen in a space of their
own 2 per cent of the time, and were usually seen playing on the edges
of the main play areas, and thus were not visible within the charting
system (and its focus upon the main play areas within the school). So,
for example, at PPS small groups of NAP students (typically two to four
younger students) were often observed sitting and talking on the edge of
the oval, or at the edge of playground areas, but rarely venturing into
the area itself.

Conversely, at HPS, NAP students were seen more frequently (around
20 per cent of the time) playing in spaces on their own (such as the
sandpit and the oval where NAP boys frequently played sport). The
differences between the two schools regarding observations of the
ability of NAP students to claim spaces of their own may be due in part
to the fact that HPS has a much larger play area overall, with more
distinct spaces than at PPS. This may have meant that there were more
opportunities for NAP students to gather together in the same area away
from non-NAP students, whilst at PPS NAP students were unable to claim
any of the major spaces.

Interestly, despite the lack of observations of interaction between
NAP and non-NAP students by the first author, teachers indicated that
they felt that NAP and non-NAP students did interact together in the
yard. For example, the majority of teachers (62 per cent at PPS and 54
per cent at HPS) perceived NAP and non-NAP students playing together
across all main play areas at least sometimes, with 27 per cent at PPS
and 21 per cent at HPS believing this happened frequently. This is in
contrast to the observations of the first author who very rarely saw
such interaction. In fact, across the whole eight weeks of observations
students were only seen interacting across NAP/non-NAP boundaries four
times.

Whilst it is of course possible that integrated play does happen,
and that it simply did not occur when the first author was conducting
observations, this would seem unlikely given the amount of time spent in
observations. A more likely answer is that teachers' perceptions of
NAP and non-NAP students playing together were actually instances of
both groups playing in the same area, but not together. Whilst the first
author paid close attention to actual interactions between the two
groups (as opposed to both simply being in the same area), teachers may
not have noticed this difference. Whilst it is fair to acknowledge that
teachers do not have the same luxury of time as does a researcher who is
not charged with the task of keeping students safe and monitoring the
play area, it is nonetheless significant that teachers perceived more
interaction than perhaps does occur. For example, if teachers believe
that interactions already occur, they may put less work into further
encouraging positive interactions, thus allowing the potentially low
current rates of interaction to continue.

Teachers were also instrumental in their control of the playground
space, meaning that it was frequently the case that NAP students were
unable to utilize the playground in ways determined by them. An anecdote
from the field notes helps to illustrate this:

Examples such as this highlight the complex ways in which school
spaces are managed not only by students in their play behaviour, but
also by teachers. (28) In this instance, a yard duty teacher managed the
ways in which two NAP students played on the basis of school rules
established to govern all students, with little attention to the
specific needs of these two students. So, for these siblings (and
perhaps especially for the young girl), a possible need to play together
is overridden by a school policy that prevents students playing together
across classes. Similar findings come from Miller's research on
refugee students' experiences in mainstream classes. (29) One of
her participants, a twenty-year-old boy who was placed in a year 10
class on the basis of his English language skills, was reprimanded for
having a girlfriend in his year level. Again, this type of treatment of
NAP students fails to recognize that such students will have specific
needs that differ from those of non-NAP students (for whom school rules
were likely primarily designed).

As such, our research found that, whilst it may be considered
desirable that NAP and non-NAP students interact on an even basis within
the school space, such interaction very rarely took place. In fact,
power differentials seemed to work against NAP students in relation to
both their ability to use the playground space with other children (as
evidenced by the apparent difficulty they had in claiming spaces to play
in) and with teachers (as seen in relation to sets of rules governing
norms of behaviour which may not act to meet the needs of newly arrived
students). One of the reasons provided for this lack of interaction and
differences in power by both teachers at the schools, and previous
literature in the area, was the fact that NAP students had low levels of
English language skills. We turn now to a discussion of our findings in
relation to this aspect of the "inclusion" of refugees and
migrants.

English as a Prerequisite for Inclusion

Much of the published research advocates strongly for English
language lessons as a central aspect of supporting the integration of
NAP students into life in Australia. For example, Olliff and Couch
state, "English represents the key to a possible future," and
"the central role that English proficiency plays in determining
successful integration of migrants into Australia society has been well
documented." (30) These arguments were reflected in the statements
about made about English on the questionnaires administered to teachers
in the present study. Of the teachers who completed the questionnaire,
over 75 per cent rated as significant (8 or higher on a scale where 10
represented "greatly") the impact of NAP students' level
of English upon interactions between NAP and non-NAP students.
Qualitative responses to this question also indicated that (primarily
non-NAP) teachers at both schools felt that English was essential to the
likelihood of interactions between NAP students and the broader society.
Examples include: "NAP children need good English so they can
smoothly transition" and "the more English they speak the
easier it is for them to interact." One teacher also indicated that
they felt that non-NAP students who initially had intentions to
"buddy up" with NAP students did not persevere due to the
language difference. As such, there appeared to be little reflexivity
amongst teachers that integration must be a two-way street, with those
in the position of relative power being willing to engage in dialogue
about possible conflicting needs and agendas in relation to the terms on
which inclusion is set.

Clearly, for us, there was a general assumption that English would
facilitate the inclusion of refugees and other migrants. Whilst we would
not argue per se against the role that language differences play in
facilitating or inhibiting interaction, our concern here is that when an
injunction is placed upon NAP students to learn English, there is little
corollary injunction placed upon non-NAP students to engage with and
learn from NAP students. Thus power relations which already exist in the
broader community are reinforced within the school environment. This is
discussed in an incisive paper by Norton Pierce on the relationship
between investments in learning English and its perception as a form of
cultural capital by non-English speaking (NES) migrants. Pierce suggests
that the belief that, given the opportunity, NES migrants will easily
and willingly learn English represents a failure to recognize that the
learning of language always occurs on a particular social terrain in
which those who already know the language hold considerable power. (31)

This was evident in one particular interaction observed between a
NAP and a non-NAP student in the playground. During one lunch hour at
Hills Primary School, a young girl from a non-NAP class was observed
running with a ball that a young boy from a NAP class had been playing
with. Running behind her was the boy himself, calling out "thank
you, thank you" in an effort to claim back the ball from the girl
who had stolen it from him. Ignoring him, the girl threw the ball to
another non-NAP student who was in the area, but the ball hit a railing
and bounced back to the child who originally had the ball, who grabbed
it and ran off.

For some, this type of incident may seem either insignificant or as
supporting the supposition that English language acquisition is vital to
integration. However, we would suggest the need for a slightly more
nuanced argument; namely that regardless of the practical utility of
being able to speak up for oneself in a situation where one is in a
marginal position, the ability to do so will always be moderated by the
willingness of other people to listen. Again, this means that those
students who are fluent in English are typically placed in positions of
relative power when compared to NAP students. This argument echoes
findings from an ethnographic study conducted by van Ausdale and Feagin,
in which they observed the learning of racial categories and enactments
of racism amongst nursery school-aged children. (32) As they suggest, it
is in mundane, everyday examples such as these that we see power
differentials operate to the exclusion of marginalized groups of
students. Of course, on one level, game-play amongst children often
involves the claiming of another's territory or possessions, and
this in and of itself does not necessarily constitute marginalization.
But when we consider the broader picture of the ability (or otherwise)
of a student to verbally resist this type of game play (other than
saying "thank you"), the power struggles that shape language
differences become more visible. It is such relations of power that we
suggest need more attention within the school environment.

One area identified by some of the teachers as being able to
realign (at least to some extent) such power relations was that of
sport. Several teachers stated informally to the first author that they
felt that sport was an area which brought NAP and non-NAP students
together. It must be mentioned, however, that support for this was
divided and some teachers stated in written responses on the
questionnaire that lack of English impeded engagement in sports, as seen
in comments such as: "NAP students don't feel confident enough
to ask to join in a game, don't understand rules, so won't be
able to effectively communicate to other members of a team if it is a
team sport they are playing." This highlights an important
difference between instrumental usage of English (where NAP students may
have little capacity to engage in forms of interaction under testable
circumstances that require English literacy), and comprehension of
English-based cultural interactions (where NAP students may have
considerable skills in other areas that facilitate interactions, such as
sport). Certainly previous research on NAP students and social
interaction has found that male NAP students are likely to engage in
sports-based interactions that facilitate points of contact with non-NAP
students, (33) and that NAP students themselves point to the benefits of
sports and other community activities to assist in the development of a
sense of belonging. (34) As such, sport could be considered an example
of an area in which English language acquisition is able to occur in an
arena that is less restricted by existing power relations that lead to a
situation in which migrants are required to learn English before they
are considered to have anything to contribute.

It is worth noting, however, that in this respect sport is an
activity that may be more useful to male NAP students than it may be to
female NAP students. As mentioned previously, the oval at HPS was a
space that was at times claimed particularly by NAP boys as they
participated in sports such as soccer; however, girls were not seen
participating in sport to the same extent. This is reflective of
previous studies of playground behaviour, in which it has been found
that, irrespective of ethnicity, boys tend to engage more in team
sports, whereas girls tend to participate in solitary activities in
smaller groups. (35) Thus it has been suggested that school spaces are
"social settings particularly for boys." (36) This may have
particular ramifications for schools with NAPs as boys will likely have
more opportunity to come together as a large group across the
NAP/non-NAP divide to play a team sport, whereas similar opportunities
may not exist for girls.

Implications for Schools

Following from the discussion of these two different facets of the
inclusion (or otherwise) of refugees and other migrants in the primary
school environment, we would suggest that there is likely to be
interplay between the primary focus upon low levels of English skills
amongst NAP students (to the detriment of other skills which NES
refugees and migrants may bring), and the lack of interaction between
NAP and non-NAP students within the playground space. This interplay may
be especially pronounced for refugee students who not only have low
levels of English language skills but also may have little experience of
prior education or indeed literacy in their own language. (37) In the
remainder of this paper we discuss the relationship between these two
factors of English language skills and interaction, and suggest ways in
which schools could work on building the bridges between NAP and non-NAP
students.

Firstly, and whilst we recognize calls made in previous literature
(38) for education for NAP students that focuses on the backgrounds of
these students (such as experiences of trauma in their home countries),
we argue here for education which not only addresses this point, but
which goes further in considering the ways in which education can be
provided to NAP students through methods that recognize and account for
unequal power relations between NAP (and especially refugee) students
and non-NAP students. The negative representation of asylum seekers,
refugees, and other migrants of "middle-eastern appearance" by
many institutions in Australia, combined with the onus placed on NAP
students to learn English in order to "integrate," leads to a
situation in which many NAP students are under pressure to speak English
not only in order to achieve good outcomes at school, but also to be
perceived as fitting into the school environment, and thus the broader
Australian society.

Secondly, the opinions of teachers will clearly have a significant
impact on the ways in which refugee and other newly arrived migrant
children are received into a primary school. Despite differing in their
perceptions of the use of space from those observed by the first author,
teachers' opinions at both schools were remarkably similar. For
example, in casual discussions held with teachers by the first author,
as well as in data obtained from the questionnaires, many teachers at
both schools suggested that the segregation of NAP and non-NAP students
in the playground was due to the fact that students in both NAP and
non-NAP classes tended to play solely within their class groups, and
that NAP children had low levels of English language skills. However,
the first author observed NAP students at both PPS and HPS frequently
playing across both class groups and language barriers.

The perceptions held by teachers in these areas means that there
may be little incentive for schools to work to change these patterns of
interaction. Interestingly, conversations with NAP teachers indicated
that programs designed to encourage inter-class interaction and teach
"social skills" were run at both schools during lunchtimes for
NAP students to participate in, and this could explain the observation
that NAP students played across class and language groups on a regular
basis. However, similar programs were not run with the aim of building
bridges across NAP and non-NAP classes (although HPS indicated it was
about to start a course designed to encourage NAP/non-NAP interaction).
This lack of directed interaction between NAP and non-NAP students was
also apparent in reports from NAP teachers, which indicated that they
had difficulty organizing non-NAP teachers to take a student who was
about to transition into a non-NAP class into their room for lessons
such as art or sport. As such, cross-class interactions between NAP and
non-NAP were reported as being difficult to organize and rare, meaning
that the separation of NAP and non-NAP students extended beyond just the
playground. Again, this could be a reflection of the fact that few
teachers felt that there were issues with the ways in which students in
the school interacted, and therefore did not feel there was any
imperative to encourage such interaction.

It is important to consider that this lack of provision of
opportunities for cross-class interactions on the part of teachers may
be seen to model for students a separationist approach to NAP/non-NAP
interactions in the playground. Given the importance of ensuring that
refugee and other NAP students are not marginalized within school
grounds, we would suggest that it is a responsibility of schools to
ensure that positive interactions between NAP and non-NAP students do
take place, and that NAP students are not isolated or marginalized
within the school grounds. (39) One way in which this outcome could be
achieved would be to ensure that a number of classes which do not rely
on English skills are shared by students from NAP and non-NAP classes.
For example, several NAP teachers commented that they felt that their
students could express themselves well through art, and that they really
loved time spent painting or drawing. Having combined art classes could
provide a point of contact between NAP and non-NAP students in which the
skills of NAP students are highlighted. Combined classes also provide an
opportunity for the school community to not simply "integrate"
NAP students in a top-down approach which prioritizes "norms"
of the playground space (set on the terms of the dominant group), but
instead to allow refugees and other NAP students an opportunity to
demonstrate their own wealth of knowledges, experiences, and skills.
This would equally be the case for both shared art or music classes and
shared sports activities, as discussed earlier.

In response to the two key issues we identify above (i.e., the
potential overemphasis upon English language acquisiton and the role of
teachers in either facilitating or inhibiting genuine inclusion), we now
offer a number of suggestions that may assist schools to encourage
interaction between newly arrived migrant and refugee students, and
non-NAP students, and to engage with alternative methods of including
students that do not rely on English language skills. Firstly, we
suggest that all teachers need to be aware of differences which may
exist for NAP students (especially newly arrived NAP students and those
with experiences of forced migration) and to be prepared to adjust
playground rules accordingly. Secondly, there is a need to ensure that
school norms are not centred on those of its "mainstream"
families, to the exclusion of refugee and immigrant communities. For
example, there was some debate in both schools about the provision of
prayer rooms (one of the schools in this study provided such a room
whilst the other did not), and there was also discussion over what
festivals and holidays are celebrated within the schools (i.e., Easter
and Christmas being celebrated but not Ramadan or Eid). q-he priority
accorded to dominant group traditions potentially functions to limit the
ways in which NAP students perceive their ability to "own" the
school space in the same way as non-NAP (and, more specifically,
dominant group) students.

As such, a focus on recognizing the values, customs, skills, and
knowledge brought by NAP students to the school, together with ensuring
that the school environment supports the needs of students from all
backgrounds, would also mean that NAP students may be more likely to see
the school space as their own, rather than a space which they must
attempt to "fit into." The rhetoric of "inclusion"
and "integration" frequently referred to by teachers
effectively places the onus on NAP students to conform to school customs
and expectations, rather than creating an environment in which NAP
students are able to shape the space to the same extent as non-NAP
students. Acknowledging power relations between NAP and non-NAP students
(particularly between refugee and non-refugee students), creating spaces
within structured school time to encourage interaction between NAP and
non-NAP students, and providing spaces which focus on the different
knowledge of NAP students (and which will therefore also provide for the
ongoing needs of students exiting the NAP into non-NAP classes) will all
help to create an environment in which primary schools are not simply
seen as solely the space of mainstream students into which NAP students
must somehow find a way to "fit in," but rather as spaces
shaped through the coming together of a range of differing groups.

In saying this, our suggestion here is of course not for a version
of "melting pot" multiculturalism where power differentials
are ignored. Instead, schools must acknowledge that despite their best
efforts, dominant cultures will likely continue to dominate, to the
disadvantage of marginalized people such as refugees and other migrants.
As such, we recommend that schools be active in helping students to
explore the cultural and social geographies of their schools in order to
become more empowered to take a critical stance to their own education.
(40) To this end, we would suggest that there is a pressing need for
educational approaches which afford both NAP and non-NAP students
opportunities to understand the differential power relations they may
encounter in the immediate school environment and the broader national
as well as global context, which position those who speak fluent English
as automatically belonging in Western nations such as Australia. One way
of achieving this within an educational context is through the teaching
of critical reflexivity regarding Australia's location in histories
of colonization, particularly in relation to the countries from which
NAP students come. Specific examples of this include Australia
contributing troops to wars which have displaced many millions of
people, current trade agreements which strongly reinforce the
subordinated status of many countries, and legacies of empire building
that continues to have significant effects both within Australia and
abroad. (41) This historical and current background functions to
reinforce the power of non-NAP students, a fact that is ignored in much
of the literature that places the responsibility for
"assimilating," "integrating," or
"belonging" firmly in the hands of refugees and migrants
themselves.

In fact, an understanding of how these power relations are
currently reinforced in schools is important in considering how a No
Borders policy could be employed in practice, beginning with everyday
instances of nationalism and exclusion. For a No Borders politics to be
effective, it must first examine the understandings of "norms"
of belonging in the nation-state, such as those seen and enacted within
these two primary schools. In particular, this requires an understanding
of the ways in which refugees are continually required to adhere to
these supposed "norms" that are seen to be reflective of the
values of the discrete nation-state, and which supposedly differentiate
it from other nation-states. It is precisely these supposed
"norms," seen in phrases such as "the Australian way of
life," (42) which create a climate in which border control against
those seen as "outsiders" is seen as justified, together with
the ongoing requirements of "integration."

To conclude, creating a more just and less exclusionary society is
the responsibility not only of schools but also of the broader
Australian society. However, as an important point of contact between
NAP and non-NAP children and their families, schools are in a unique and
important position to begin to create a society in which refugees and
other migrants are valued and seen to belong in their own right, rather
than in which rights are associated with one's acquisition of
national cultural capital by speaking English at a desired standard.
Acknowledgment of these power relations and the responsibility Australia
has towards marginalized groups of people would allow schools to
consider how they are complicit with the injunction to produce docile
citizens who do not critique existing power differentials.

We acknowledge the sovereignty of the Kaurna people, the First
Nations people upon whose land we live in Adelaide, South Australia.
This research was funded by a Faculty of Health Sciences Small Research
Grant.

NOTES

(1.) See United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees,
"Conflicts in Afghanistan and Somalia Fuel Increase in Asylum
Seekers" press release, March 2009, online: http://
www.unhcr.org/news/NEWS/49c8a10d2.html.

(3.) For example, the 2008-2009 Federal Budget included $120
million for the detention of refugees. See the Refugee Council of
Australia, The 2008-2009 Budget in Brief: What It Means for Refugees and
Those Requiring Humanitarian Protection, online:
http://www.refugeecouncil.org.au/
current/RCOA%202008-09%20Federal%20Budget %20Brief.pdf.

(34.) J. Miller, "Language, Membership and Social
Identity" (paper presented at the Researching Education in New
Times conference, Brisbane, Queensland, 1997).

(35.) P. Blatchford, E. Baines, and A. Pellegrini, "The Social
Context of School Playground Games: Sex and Ethnic Differences, and
Changes over Time after Entry to Junior School" British Journal of
Developmental Psychology 21 (2003): 481-505.

(41.) See Matthews for a discussion of the need to locate education
in contexts of post-colonialism and global relations.

(42.) A practical example of these values and norms is seen in the
Australian Citizenship Test that immigrants must pass before becoming
citizens. Questions are related to Australia, including the
"responsibilities and privileges of citizenship" For more
information, see online: http://www.citizenship .gov.au/learn/cit_test/.

Clemence Due is a postgraduate student in the School of Psychology
at the University of Adelaide. Her research is concerned with
representations of belonging and face relations within Australia, and
her PhD research examines such representations as they appear in the
media with regard to minority racial groups living in Australia. Her
research has also included the ways in which refugee and migrant
children are included in the education system through New Arrivals
Programs.

Damien Riggs, PhD, is a lecturer in social work at Flinders
University. His research interests encompass critical face and whiteness
studies, lesbian and gay psychology, and family and parenting studies.
He has published widely in these areas and is the editor (with Barbara
Baird) of The Racial Politics of Bodies, Nations and Knowledges
(Cambridge Scholars Press, 2009) and the author of Priscilla, (White)
Queen of the Desert: Queer Rights/Race Privilege (Peter Lang, 2006).

One of the NAP teachers tells me of two Anglo-Indian students
in the school (a boy in yr 7 and a girl in grade 1) who are very
new to Australia. The little girl has been crying all morning and
refused to let her mother drop her off in her classroom and instead
would only be dropped off at the office. I ask if there is any
reason for why the little girl's behaviour has changed (they have
been at the school since the start of term, and until now the
little girl had not exhibited such behaviours). The teacher
responds by telling me that "the little girl had been hanging out
with her brother in the yard but they were recently told off by the
yard duty teacher and told to play separately as generally within
the school it is considered inappropriate for yr7s and yr1s to be
playing together." Later I see them in the yard sitting together by
themselves finishing off their food.